Schloss Wachtstein
Kreis Wachtstein, Pomerania
2150 11 May 1943
An elderly Oberstleutnant Arzt was commandant of Recuperation Hospital No. 15. He appeared in the main hall of the castle as the Graf and Peter were climbing the stairs to the second floor, where the family apartments were located. “Heil Hitler!” he said, giving the Nazi salute. “Oberstleutnant Reiner at your service, Herr Generalleutnant Graf.”
The Graf returned the salute casually.
“Your aide, Herr Generalleutnant Graf, telephoned to say you would be coming. I have been waiting for your call to send a car to the Bahnhof. These days, there is no telling when a train will arrive—”
“Hauptmann von und zu Happner was apparently unaware that we would be driving,” the Graf interrupted him.
“Your staff was informed of your coming, Herr Generalleutnant Graf, and I believe they have prepared a dinner for you.”
“This is my son, Major von Wachtstein,” the Graf said.
Peter saluted the old man and shook his hand.
“If there is any way I may be of service while you’re here, Herr Generalleutnant Graf…”
“That’s very kind of you, but I can’t think of a thing we’ll need,” the Graf said. “Good evening, Herr Oberstleutnant.”
He started up the stairs, and Peter followed him.
A pedestal-mounted sign—ENTRANCE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN—stood in the corridor leading to the family apartm
ents on the second floor. The door was unlocked, and there were lights in the corridor inside, and the smell of sauerkraut.
The Graf went directly to the kitchen. All that remained of the staff—an old woman and her even older husband, too old to do anything but care for the empty apartments—were sitting at a table drinking coffee. They stood up quickly, but not without visible effort, when they saw the Graf and Peter.
“Good evening,” the Graf said.
“Herr Graf,” they both said, and bobbed their heads.
The old lady said, “Hansel,” and Peter went to her and let her embrace him.
The old man called him “Herr Major.”
“It won’t be much, Herr Graf,” the old woman said, pointing to a large pot simmering on the stove. “If I had more time…”
“It smells marvelous,” the Graf said. “We have missed your cooking, Frau Brüner, haven’t we, Hansel?”
“Absolutely,” Peter said. It was true. The smell of the pork and sauerkraut was actually making him salivate.
Frau Brüner smiled.
“When will it be ready?” the Graf asked.
“Whenever Herr Graf is ready.”
“I’m ready now,” the Graf said. “Is there any beer?”
“Of course, Herr Graf.”
Peter followed his father into the dining room. Two places had been set at one end of the large table. Herr Brüner, came in with gray pottery mugs of beer as soon as they sat down.
The Graf raised his mug. “To being home,” he said.